Where am I?
Google Broome. Then head three hours up the red dirt coast road with a small white dog and two utes, exploding with supplies of tinned food that cannot be attacked by ants, and fresh food that can be attacked by ants, and clothes you will never wear and have nowhere to put, cooking utensils, a small fridge, tools that you will need to fasten, fix and dig with, trays of bok choy, lettuce, tomatoes and broccoli seedlings that will become your lunches, and a broken down pallet bed, to support your weary weary body at the end of every day. And ropes. Hundreds of ropes that will anchor down a tent and shelter in the gusty easterlies.
It has taken a good two weeks for us to settle in here. Not much writing to speak of. Lots of grass cutting, weed chipping, bush clearing and garden building, frustration, cuts and rashes. We have set up camp, pulled it down, moved it two metres to the right, set it up again, pulled it down, cleared another field, and put it all up again in a different location.
And all this with a boil on my arse that burnt like the sun. Try not sitting down for five days – it’s surprisingly frustrating and will bring you and everyone around you to tears.
Finally, we have created a space where we are happy.
Our tent is perched on a cliff top. In front of us there is a clearing that runs all the way to a magnificent drop into Pender Bay. This is where we watch the sun rise every day while we breathe in coffee.
Between our kitchen area and the Indian Ocean, Adam has constructed a two tiered garden, which is already covered in a green carpet of watercress and rocket. Beyond that is our little fireplace (also by Adam) with a specially prepared coal pit for our camp oven cooking. His background in sculpture is proving valuable and sets a high standard for the tone of our camp. His creations are a tribute to all things that fit perfectly together on their joining sides.
It sounds heavenly, and it is, but it has also been a test of patience and faith in ourselves.
Things that are not working: my car, the battery that runs the fridge (so also the fridge), and two of my dog’s legs. The only fresh vegetable we have left is a two week old cob of corn and the bread has run out. Our fishing is a bit hit and miss.
Things that are working: my bread baking (now pumping out 3 loaves in one session), the soda stream, the fast growing vegetable garden, access to water at our camp kitchen, our waterproof tent, fish from the sea (working sometimes), the pristine beach, slow cooked slabs of meat in the camp oven, the cafe on the next block that serves mango cheesecake, the clothes rack Adam fashioned out of bush wood, and the company.
The thing is, working or not working, we are here and there’s no regular bus service back to town. And if there was, I wouldn’t be on it.